The Things We Want
by began-to-climb
Summary: I asked Dr. Tancredi to give this to you. If you're reading this then I'm gone. Oneshot


**Name: **The Things We Want

**Rating: **PG

**Summary: **Michael reads the letter Lincoln wrote to him on the eve of his execution

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters. Nope.

**Authors Note: **I hope that Lincoln is not executed, but in this story he unfortunately has been. This has a few spoilers for the new episode, the Rat, if you can recognize them.

XXXX

The viewing room began to clear, the few people in the room standing and taking the directions the two guards gave them. Veronica didn't move beside him; she remained bolted to her seat. He heard one of the guards ask her to leave, taking a light hold of her arm and urging her to her feet. He glanced at her; tears were still leaking down her cheeks, her pools quivering. They kept focus on Lincoln's body. Guards were already in the execution room, unfastening the straps buckled around Lincoln's arms and legs. The body was limp in their working hands, steam still rising from the dying skin.

The guard gave Veronica his last warning; she abruptly stood, storming from the room in a fury that could only result in seeing someone you loved electrocuted before your eyes. He turned his head and watched her leave, attempting to gather himself before he was taken back to the cellblock. The last thing he needed now were the other inmates riding his back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of red hair leaning against the back wall. He felt her eyes on him. His eyes found the sight before him again, mechanically observing the movements of each C.O. inside that room. He cringed; Lincoln's head lolled to the side.

A forceful hand suddenly grabbed his shoulder. He was tugged to his feet, the handcuffs confining his wrists clinking against one another. He didn't feel the pinch. He couldn't feel that pain anymore; there was only one pain now. Sara maneuvered out of the guard's way, falling behind him as he was being led out the door. He glanced once at her; a line creased her lips.

She cleared her throat, calling the guard's name. He studied her intently, curious what she was going to do. She came forward. "Can I have a minute with Mr. Scofield, please?"

The tall man lifted the tip of his cap, fidgeting nervously. "It isn't protocol."

"Yes, I understand that. But, this man's brother was just executed in front of him. I'm his doctor; I'd like to talk to him about what just happened. If you'll be so kind as to give me one minute then you may take him back to his cell." Sara explained, crossing her arms across her chest. She was keen on what she wanted.

Michael's eyes followed the curtain as it drew to a close, blocking any sight of the event that just took place. Sara and the guard proceeded with their discussion, but he wasn't listening. That curtain just stole his brother from him; that chair just killed his brother for an act that he didn't commit. He felt the guard step back; the door was pushed, only left open ajar. He was alone with Sara.

Michael bowed his head, staring at his feet. He didn't have words for this conversation. "So, you talked to your father for me. What changed your mind?"

"Michael," He looked up at her. She held a folded envelope in her hand. "Lincoln asked me to give this to you."

She offered the envelope to him and he, despite being cuffed, took the seal. He smiled weakly at her, refusing to look at her now. She stepped closer to him, her body heat radiating immediately onto him, and laid a hand on his shoulder. She squeezed, her fingers gently massaging his muscles. Her eyes told him she truly was sorry; she'd tried to get to her father and he was thankful. One day he would get the courage to tell her.

Sara retracted her hand and brushed past him. He could hear her heels hit the ground as she descended farther. The guards retrieved him and escorted him through the labyrinth to his cellblock. The house was pitch black, except for the few lights hanging from the ceilings that were left on for late night checks. As he climbed the stairs and passed the many cells he noticed the many eyes watching him. They peaked out of the black, beady eyes like nocturnal creatures inspecting your every move. The envelope was held tightly between his fingers

The steels bars slide open and the guard unlocked the cuffs. He instinctively stepped into the shadows and waited for the bars to close again. When they did, his fingers wrapped around the steel and he beat his head against it, a solid thudding then trembling reverberating through the quiet. After a minute he released the bars and rolled onto his bed, lying on his back with his hands locked behind his head. He couldn't see anything but the springs from Sucre's bed. His cellmate dropped his head over the side of the bed, gently asking if he was okay. He knew it was a stupid question—how are you supposed to feel after your brother's just died?

Michael didn't respond. He'd forgotten the envelope on his chest; he picked it up. It was silver in a world of black, an eerie shape in nothingness. Michael ran his fingers over the paper, flipping it over to find his name written in Lincoln's sloppy handwriting. He swallowed the lump in his throat and tore at the seal, finding that it was simply tucked in and not pressed together. He diligently pulled the one paper out and unfolded it. It was a letter…Lincoln's last letter home.

_Dear Michael,_

_I've asked Dr. Tancredi to give this to you incase…well. I can't put it anymore bluntly: if you're reading this then I'm gone. Granted dying in the electric chair wasn't my first choice on how to go, but…what choice does a man have when he's on death row? _

_Michael, please don't blame yourself for my death. You can't prevent what is fated to happen. I sacrificed my life because I love you. I wanted you to have a good life; get a good education, find a good job, raise a nice family…I did all these things as you were growing up to protect you because I wanted you to have what I couldn't. Yet, here I land in jail for a crime I didn't commit and I find you in the same place, telling me you're going to use your genius to break me out. _

_You're plan didn't go as we all hoped it would, but I love you that much more for trying. You can't let go of your plan, Michael. Do not abandon it because I'm not here to save. Sucre, Westmoreland, Abruzzi…they're counting on you. They need to escape just as bad as you do. Please keep going. You've put too much into this. _

_Do you remember when you were, I think, six and I was teaching you to play baseball, but you were more interested in something else until you really hit the ball? It went through Mom's bedroom window. She was so mad. She ran out in the backyard in her pink robe and curlers in her hair cause she had a date. I remember you were scared, your head bowed in that guilty way, but I told Mom I broke the window. She made me stay home from school the next day to fix the window, then she made me do more house chores. You'd written me an 'I'm sorry' card at school. It was that day I decided that I was going to look out for you, no matter the consequences. _

_I can't do that anymore, Michael. I've asked the Doc to look out for you. I know you think you don't need protection and I'm positive Sucre has your back, but you need friends in different places. Dr. Tancredi is special; you can see that. _

_I like the Doc, just like you do, but we don't like her in the same way. I trust her, I trust her because you trust her. Michael, your feelings for her have gone far past manipulation. I can see it every time you look at her. You care so much about her. Why else would you risk your life to save hers? But don't be afraid to go after the things you want. We can't afford to miss life. When you're sitting in a cold stone room writing down your last thoughts as you're about to be killed on the electric chair, you begin to realize all the mistakes you've made. All the lost chances and empty promises. It's not worth it. Nothing is worth giving up on life, Michael._

_I have enough regrets and I've made enough mistakes. I regret not being there for you, I regret not working harder to make things work with Lisa for LJ, I regret not telling Veronica I love her every day since we've met…But I won't talk about mistakes. The thing I don't regret is having you as a brother. I couldn't have asked for anyone better._

_Michael, I may not be around anymore, but—and not to sound all cliché—I'm with you everywhere you go. When you break out, I'll be by your side. I'll always be in your heart. Tell LJ and Veronica I love them, but don't grieve. Good-bye Mike._

_Your brother,_

_Lincoln_

Michael crunched the paper in his fist, grinding his teeth together in a pained expression. Tears seeped down his cheeks; he swiped them away, sniffing to muffle any noise. Sucre's snores were loud above his head. He read the letter again, doubling over the lines, before he shifted onto his stomach, bunching the letter under the pillow.

He laid awake in the dark thinking for many hours, not able to count them as they passed.

XXXX

The new day drew on as normal, falling into the rhythm of fights, yard time, officers and visits. The day didn't seem to take notice that one innocent man had left the world early that morning. Michael huddled on the bleachers, hugging his bundled arms closer to his body, his eyes roving over the green yard. The cold winter air nipped his bare ears; he adjusted the navy beanie, pinning his ears underneath. Black rimmed his blood-shot eyes, an indication of the sleepless night he was forced to endure.

Sucre and Westmoreland sat in front of him, conversing with each other about whether the escape was still a go. They would look at Michael, a question loitering in the air, but when they got no response, they just went on like the question hadn't existed. Michael wouldn't talk for most of the day. He plucked out his watch and checked the time. It was time for his visit to see Sara. A smile couldn't help but appear; the silver lining. He stood and bound off the bleachers upon seeing the guard approaching them on the other side of the fence.

The Bellick apprentice was taller than his mentor was and nicer in some ways. He didn't crack jokes on their way to the infirmary, but left Michael in his solitude. The other guards avoided him as well; no one seemed to have words for the brother prisoner. None except Sara.

The doctor was waiting in her room when Michael was brought in, leaning against the examining table with her hands reached behind her. She nodded towards the guard; the door closed, trapping them in. Michael didn't move, didn't talk as Sara cautiously approached him. Her steps were careful and calculated, surrendering any threat.

Her voice was soft. "How are you, Michael?"

No words passed Michael's lips; his eyes watched her as she came closer. He swallowed and took a step. He enveloped his arms around her, grasping her to him in an embrace needing comfort. Sara stiffened for a brief second but eventually wrapped her slender arms around his neck, stroking the back of his head. She cooed, soothing his shaking form. She cared about this man, this inmate that just had to put up with the worst night of his life. She'd be there, just as she promised Lincoln.

Michael held her tighter, burying her face into her shoulder. "Thank-you Sara." he whispered.

XXXX


End file.
